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IDLE HOUR RHYMES 


Books hij 

ETHEL L. WORSLEY SMITH 

* * * Hs 


Ragweed and Clovers (Verse). 
Child Stories (Prose). 

Idle Hour Rhymes. 


by 

ETHEL L. WORSLEY SMITH 
M 




Copyright 1923 
by 

Ethel L. Worsley Smith. 
All rights reserved. 




25 


©C1A705038 
■nA\ V 


INSCRIBED WITH ALL AFFECTION 
TO 

THE DEAR FOLKS OF THE OLD HOME 
AND ALL CLOSE FRIENDS WHO 
GATHERED THERE. 







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CONTENTS 

Page 

Coming of Spring, The . 13 

Eventide . 14 

Queen of Months, The . 15 

In A Garden . 17 

Awakening, The . 18 

Home . 19 

Club Dance, The . 22 

Lovers Lane . 23 

Dealing With Fate . 25 

Simple Faith, A . 26 

My Path . 28 

To My Piano . 30 

Gypsy Jim. VIII Cantos.31-49 

At Helen Hunt Jackson’s Grave. 50 

Nature Joys . 52 

Homeward Journey, The . 56 

Hermit, The . 58 

Golden Butterflies . 59 

Down In Happy Valley. 60 

Call of Nature, The. 61 

























THE COMING OF SPRING 

Airy, fairy Spring is dancing 
Toward us o ’er the hills, 

Hear the gurgling and the rushing 
Of the swelling rills; 

And the feathered songsters winging 
From a warmer clime. 

Herald sweetly in their singing. 

The coming glad Springtime. 


Every bud is teeming, swelling. 
Wildly w'arm winds blow. 

The joyous news they’re telling 
That we all may know; 

Too the splashing, dashing showers 
And the sunshine bring 
Earth’s fair carpeting of flowers, 
Welcome, lovely Spring! 


1 


o 

o 


EVENTIDE 

Twilight is stealing 
Softly o’er the woods, 

Wind the reeds are reeling 
Where the blneflags stood; 

Stars are brightly peeping 

And from pools among the bogs, 
Where the mist is creeping. 

Comes the chorus of the frogs. 


Afar the plaintive calling 
Of the lonely whippoorwill, 

With the cadence rising, falling, 

In the echo o’er the hill; 

Then again the frogs’ lone greeting 
Loudly in the silence rings. 

The ceaseless chorus’ beating 
And darkness closes in. 


14 


THE QUEEN OF MONTHS 


Wlien the blue is in the sky, 

And fleecy clouds drift by, 

And all the world seems so sweet, so gay. 
Without the wind or breeze 
To stir the flowering trees. 

Yet all the air is sweetness—it is May. 

The hum of honey-bees 
Is as chanting in the trees. 

As they tumble in and out tlie dainty flowers. 

And butterflies 

With the bumble-bees vie. 

Here and there throughout the thickets bower. 

The robins on the wing. 

And the mocking bird that sings 

In the tree tops where the blossoms crowded lie. 

Tremble there Avith glee, 

In utter ecstasy, 

Swelling song in sweet abandon to the skies. 

The sunshine, warm and bright. 

On snoAvy blossoms in its light. 

Adds a drowsy, lazy languor to the noon; 
Exquisite odor drifts, 

And the soul it seems to lift. 

Through May’s mesmerizing, tantalizing croon. 


15 


The mottled shine and shade 
’Neath the trees are softly laid, 

Throughout the sweet and dreamy summer day; 
There Harmony, in perfect place. 

Nature blends Avith airy Grace, 

The Queen of Months is charming, fairy May. 


10 


IN A GARDEN 

A wilderness of bloom 

Is this bee-hannted bower 
In the month of June; 

When the crickets croon, 

And bird-songs banish gloom 
From this labyrinth of flowers. 

There, in drowsy dreaminess, 
Where clambering roses doze 
In the tangled sweetness. 

Is the abode of cherished Rest, 
When the sunset in the west 
Is folding into night’s repose. 


17 


THE AAVAKEXIXC; 


E’en my gentlest caress, 

That most breathlessly I press. 

Serves to stir you from your rest; 

And the tiny fingers rise, 

Pointing idly toward the skies. 

As you ope’ your baby eyes. 

The tremulous dainty sigh— 

As you Anew in mild surprise 
Me, who loves you, sitting nigh— 

Is as perfume of the rose 
While you lie there resting so. 

Still drowsy from yonr slumber, well I know. 
And as I chat Avith you the Avhile 
You bestOAv on me, dcA^oid of guile, 

A treasured prize—a bal)y’s smile. 


18 


HOME 


I will tell you of home that in memory 
Gleams out through the mist of the years, 
With a simplicity that is pure as the sunlight. 
And that moves me to dreaming and tears; 
That home filled with love and with labor, 
That home filled with joys and with woes. 
And a sweetness as of the wild honeysuckle 
There will linger in memory to life’s close. 
The wild birds and the bees and the blossoms. 
And the Ioav, graceful sweep of the grain. 
Blends with the stately elms and the maples. 
About this home in my fancy again. 

0 Artist, with magical brushes. 

And with hand of Genius’ own. 

Paint for me on your canvas 
These pictures in memory sown! 

The likeness of two loving faces— 

0 Painter, can you but draw 
From the misty blue past to your canvas. 
These features that you never saw? 

Fashion one with strength, yet so loving— 

A being so thoughtful and true, 

A man among men whate’er his calling, 

Clean and good, I caution of you. 


19 


Then cliangc your brushes, 0 Fainter! 

And deal with a much lighter hand; 

And on the fabric’s cloudy background, 

Too, paint this picture from memory’s land. 

Use only your gentlest touches 

And tintings that are modest and fine. 

But excel in your ai*t, 0 Painter, 

With the eyes of this mother of nine! 

Paint them dark, paint them deep, I would guide you, 
And over them spread a clear sight 
That is softened and mellowed by sadness, 

And that dims their sweet tender light. 

The head neatly poised on the shoulders 
Above the bosom so broad and so deep, 

AVhere for many years without abatement 
She rocked weary toddlers to sleep; 

Again I hear, as she sang it. 

The lullaby, tenderly sweet. 

And I see, in my fancy, the children 
Grouped gracefully about at her feet. 

Tavo fair buds from among them 
Too frail, too tender, were they 
For the storms life ever is prone to. 

And both were taken away; 

And Ave laid them to rest on the hillside 
AA^here the wdld rose roisterously grows, 

AA^here the Avinds carry scent of the orchard’s 
Pink and white apple bloAvs. 


20 


And where in the springtime, from the hollow, 

In the evening’s purple-mantled repose. 

The chant of the frogs soothe and urge nnto slumber 
All poor earthly woes. 

Reminiscently I dream o’er the heart ties 
Of home—let me breath the word low— 

And as softly as the sighing of the maples 
When gentlest of spring breezes blow, 

Let the rain-dove help me to voice it 
With its sweet and lingering tones. 

That I may express, in a measure. 

My sacred memory of home. 


21 


THE CLUB DANCE 

The rustle of gowns and high heeled leather, 

The dull rich luster of the polished floor, 

Tlie flowers faint odor, daintily delightful. 

Where sparkling lights their brilliance pours; 
Where the music swells, and floats, and m-elts, 

Like the billowy sea ’neath the moon’s bright glow. 
Well known friends, afar and near. 

As swiftly onward the hours go, 

Gently swaying to the languorous rhythm 
As idly o ’er the casement the breezes pour. 

While youth is tripping and flitting and gliding and 
dancing 

Across the ball room floor. 


22 


LOVER’S LANE 


A fairy land was Lover’s Lane 
In those enchanted days, 

And ever many lovers strolled 
Adown that leafy way; 

Life was like a story 
Within that bower fair, 

And the sunlight peeped in brightly 
And mellowed softly there. 

The noontide, languorous, drowsy, 
Bade the flowers nod and droop, 
While Plenty’s cornucopia bent 
Beneath its weight of fruit. 

The heavy shade of noble trees. 

That loomed high above in state. 
Was thrown in great profusion 
O’er the wind-swung picket gate. 

The old mill pond in slumber 
Lounged beside the dusty path, 
Keflecting clouds in dreamland, 
’Neath the sunset’s aftermath. 

So mystical, so fanciful. 

Grew the quiet lane at night. 
Bathed in a sea of shimmering silver 
Of the moon’s bewitching light. 


23 


And twinkling stars peeped from the blue 
To lend their tiny rays, 

The rustling leaves held fairy sprites 
That danced along the way; 

A fairy land it was, forsooth. 

For Dan Cupid there held reign 
And gladdened hearts he pierced with darts, 
Down in Lover’s Lane. 


24 


DEAi;iNG WITH FATE 


Into a Mind filled with sweet Content, 

And Purity, Love and Innocence, 

Stole keen Suspicion and Worry blent 
As if clearly challenged, the Will was bent 
To thwart, to conquer this discontent; 

Then entered Hope and Promise sweet, 

And Trust grew daintily at their flowery feet, 
But cunning Deception gained its day 
Then the Heart was threatened a slow decay; 
Wounded Pride sought vengeance, cruelly sweet. 
But P'ate desisted and gave Love absolute. 
Angrily the sharp stinging rod was kissed. 

Contentment strove to enter once more 
But Faith was shattered at the very door; 
Hope, Promise, Patience—all were given— 

But sadly each from the Mind was driven; 
Love be the absolute monarch—did Fate insist. 
Tearfully the sharp, stinging rod was kissed. 
Reason came and wielded her sway 
With priceless Wisdom, whose sunlit ray 
Gleams adown all darkened pathways. 

And Sweetness grew where it ne’er had been 
And Love reigned supremely until life’s end 
Meekly, mutely kissing the rod. 


25 


A SDIPLE FAITH 


A quiet field with sunshine, 

Molten and mellowing, where 
The wild cranesbill blossoms 
In delightful profusion. There 
In the near silence the anthem 
In the wild-bird’s melody. 

Wafts through the Sabbath’s service, 
Coming directly from God to me. 

A quiet field with sunshine. 

Gathering the springtime flowers. 
Feeling the Creator’s presence 
In the wordless, gentle power 
That surges through and through me. 

One soul ’mid the world of men, 
Without answer for life’s strange being— 
The strife and the suffering. 

A quiet field with sunshine 

Where the fragrant breeze blows free. 
There the great plan of the Creator 
Again checks and puzzles me; 

Yet I sense a wonderful power 
That is grand and free and full, 

An influence, more than earthly. 
Distinctly I feel the pull. 


A quiet field with sunshine, 

I lift my eyes and behold 
The wonderful works of Creation 
Moving smoothly along as of old. 
Though the veil of the Great Beyond 
Be not lifted that I may see, 

Yet the God that rules the world 
Will plan and care for me. 


27 


MY PATH 


Instead of walking ont in the sunshine 
I walk in the shadow; 

The world’s gayest pastimes I seldom may know, 
But I glean of life’s fullness, in puny endeavor. 

In cheering and comforting hearts burdened low. 
In the dim purple valley, I walk with each sister. 

Each brother, a pilgrim on life’s bleak, rocky road. 
I search out the rainbows that gleam through the 
mist clouds, 

And carry some part of the heart’s weary load. 

I laugh when they stumble, but reach quickly to save 
them 

The brunt of the shock the stumble would bring, 
Then cheer and encourage the steps that lead up¬ 
ward, 

About the weary shoulders my arm lightly fling. 
I tell them the joys I see above ’round the corner 

And show them the back path be safely gone o’er. 
That it might have been worse, and it might have 
been better. 

Although there was failure—it need never be 
more; 

And point out more plainly God-given joys all about 
us. 

As I nurse the galled shoulder and cool furrowed 
brow. 


28 


I look Avith compassion on Avorn, AA^eary features, 
And unnoticed, in prayer, my head meekly boAV. 
Though the burden groAA^ Aveightier and despair all 
apparent. 

My ears seem to fail to hear the heart broken cry, 
Ood grant—I lift but the more and encourage the 
better. 

Till at last the great barrier be safely passed by. 
After clouds comes the sunshine to bless and to 
brighten. 

The sigh of relief and smile, AA^eary and Avorn, 

Be all the soul need to repay and to lighten 
The sisterly sympathy and suffering borne. 

Just the look on plain features of hope and of trust¬ 
ing. 

Just a quAmr of muscle, a tear, or a prayer, 

A broken Avord of admission, of faith, or of feeling, 
Be counted as joy that is treasured and rare. 

So instead of AAmlking out in the sunshine 
I AA^alk in the shadoAv. 

The Avorld’s gayest pastimes I seldom may knoAA^, 
But I glean of life’s fullness, in puny endeavor. 

In cheering and comforting hearts burdened Ioav. 


29 


TO :mv piano 


Awake, my instrument, my piano. 

With thy tones like a clear, trickling stream. 
Awake and banish dark moods of the present 
Tliat this sadness may seem as a dream. 


30 


GYPSY JBl 


Canto I. 

AROUND THE CAMPFIRE 
Gently bleAv the east wind, gently 
Blew its chilling hreath around them, 
Blew as only do the spring-winds 
That lightly chill, the while caressing; 
Lifted high the feathery ashes 
Of the willow and the maple. 

That heside the ci*ackling emhers 
Deeply lay in gi*ay-white masses. 

And the fire-light shone upon them 
As they sat in broken circle. 

Tinting, all the shades of sunset— 
Rose-red, gray or shimmering yellow. 

In wild abandon tinting 
Age with youthful colors only. 

While youth in merry pastime 
Bore the somber gray of shadow. 

At one side the glowing campfire 
Sat the men in earnest study, 

Sat conversing of a horse-trade 
That had that day relieved the dullness 
Of the hours upon the trail. 

At the farther side the fire 
Sat the Avomen of the party, 


31 


Swaying back and forth in laughter 
As the greasy cards they shuffled; 

Laughed and snapped their fingers sharply 
As the trick they gained—abandoned, 

The ^vhi\e the brilliant colors 

Of their raiment, flapped and fluttered. 

Fluttered in the wind upon them. 

At one side this group of gypsies 
Where the shadows met and parted. 

There lounged, beside his bright new saddle. 
With its odor of new leather, 

Tlioughtful Jim—the gypsy orphan. 

Long he looked into the fire. 

Seldom winking, seldom moving. 

With his bright mind alert, pursuing 
The thoughts that long were his companions. 
And the young folks romping near him. 
Now in firelight, now in darkness. 

Laughed and stopped to gaily tease him, 
Calling him to come and join them; 

And they shouted in derision 
At his curt and low refusal. 

Foremost of these gay ones, ever. 

Darting here and there about the fire. 
Foremost ever, Preciosa, 

AVith her wealth of long, dark tresses. 

Queen and flower of gypsy girls. 

AA^ell she knew that whither went she 


32 


Far or near about the night-camp 
Followed, was she, and alertly, 

By the dark eyes of the orphan. 

Long he sat and gazed about him 
Hearing not the trading story. 
Heeding not the shouts of triumph 
Of the women in the firelight. 

But he noted Preciosa, 

Singled her, from her companions; 
And he heard the breezes whisper, 
AVhisper in the branches near him; 
Knew a crescent moon was shining. 
Sinning in the blue behind him ; 
Heard a distant pony whinny. 

Roused up at the sound of hoof-beats. 
As by slow and heavy movements 
Came the old horse, white and bony, 
(xrazing up within the fire-light. 

Tlius the hours arrived,—departed— 
’Till at last the merry children 
AVorn and wearied by their playing 
Came and climbed into the wagons. 
Came to sleep and dream of playing. 
And the card-game and the story 
AVere abandoned, till the morning. 
Still the orphan sat and pondered. 

Sat beside the dying fire. 

Heard a bird call in the woodland 


33 


And of wings that in the tree-leaves 
Fluttered swiftly in the silence. 

Soon the new moon sank from vision, 

And the night-wind in its slumber 
Stirred and sighed amid the branches. 

From afar came sounds of horses 
0razing on the grassy roadside. 

Nearing tlie covered wagons slowly, 

Slowly grazing up about them. 

And as Avas the nature of them 
When they passed the dying fire, 

Fi'ightened, and with wild Avays passed it. 

Or looked and grazed their Avay by calmly. 
One, a thorough-bred, a bay mare. 

Halted, and Avith look inquirous. 

Eyed the scene that lay before her. 

And Avith ears high-pitched and listening 
Fame to the boy, beside the embers. 

And the oi’phan sti'oked her muzzle’s A^elvet, 
Stroked and smiled in proud possession. 

Long she stood Avith head Ioav drooping 
Sniffing at her master,—looking. 

But anon—the stroking halted. 

Halted and the heaA^y breathing 

Told that, AAuth his head upon his saddle, 

Slumber claimed the gypsy orphan. 


Canto II. 


ON THE TRAIL 

Where the woods rang back in echo, 

Rang and died ont in the distance, 

Stood big Jesse, the old man; 

Stood and shouted his directions 
With his hand clinched high above him. 

And his dark face lit with anger. 

Cursed and shouted Till the dumb-brutes 
Flinched, as closely he passed by them. 

Here and there the men were hastening 
With their horses and their loading. 

While the children urged each other crossly. 
Urged in low and nervous voices. 

And the women of the party 
Gained their places in the wagons, 

That were decked with colored windows. 
Decked in pictures and gay colors. 

At one side this group of gypsies, 

Stood the cause of all this anger. 

All this hurry and confusion. 

Stood a group of waiting farmers. 

In their clean and work-day clothing. 
Noting all this that was passing. 

Noting all things ’round about them; 
Smiling at their ease and swiftness 
In dispersing bands of gypsies. 


Soon the heavy wagons started, 

Amid the shouting and the cursing, 

Started with loud creaks and groaning, 

And the herd of stock went after, 

Followed, with the dogs among them, 
Rigged in gay and splendid trappings 
Of bright nickle, brass and colors. 

And with tassels and with strappings. 

In the rear of this procession 
A white horse was slowly shambling 
With two youngsters perched upon her. 

The bravest singing, singing idly. 

As they started on their journey. 

Singing in a child voice, sweet and plaintive. 
That floated to their hearers. 

The closing lines of his lone song. 

Song 

‘‘Oh! see her little foot prints on the sand. 
See her little foot prints on the sand.” 

Down the grove-road, shady, quiet. 

Where the trees in silent grandeur 
Locked their branches o’er the roadway. 
Wound the group of trailing gypsies. 
Wound out to the sunny prairie 
Where the road stretched white in sunlight. 
Stretched far off into the distance. 

On they journey, with their begging. 


36 


Journey with their fortune-telling, 

At the cross-roads halt, inquiring. 

Then pass slowly on, hill evening. 

On, until the evening shadows 
Fell about them, then, at sunset. 

And the farmers passing homeward 
Were each halted in their passing. 

Each were pressed with lively horse-trades. 
Pressed each with these trades and bargains. 
And the equines, aged and crippled 
Or that suffered labored breathing— 

Each, in care of skillful gypsies 

Skilled in old-world gypsy tricks and craftiness. 

Pranced and bore in ways apparent 

All the vigor of their youthtime. 

All their youthtime vim and soundness. 

As darkness came, the dusky traders 
Grouped about their one great kettle 
Steaming with a strange new odor, 

Of the game and of the garden. 

Of the grain and of the Orient, 

That were steaming all together. 

Long conversed they, laughed together. 

Talked of trusty tricks and bargains. 

Of their skill in trading horses. 


Canto III. 


WATCHING 

Long beside the rude, low pallet, 
Softened by new straw and branches. 
Sat a motley group of gypsies. 

Sat conversing in low whispers; 

While with careful step a woman 
Gently came unto the bedside. 

Came up bearing broth of pigeon. 

And with gentle hand administered 
To the want of the one brother 
Of the charming Preciosa; 

And the group of curious watchers 
One by one dispersed, departed. 

Leaving but the vigil keepers— 

The Orphan, old and cunning Myra, 
And the frightened Preciosa. 

As they sat throughout the night-time 
Barely speaking but in whisper, 

A great change came o’er the sleeper. 
Came and conquered the great fever. 
And the watchers looked and chuckled. 
Smiled and looked, and yet again, 

And the maiden, deeply grateful. 

Poured out thanks unto the others. 

For old Myra’s care and nursing. 

And to the hoy, for faithful watching, 


38 


For the game he brought in daily, 

For bringing there the white physician, 
AVhen the gypsies’ simple treatment 
Was defeated by the fever. 

And the orphan’s handsome features 
Were illumined by her speaking. 
Speaking of her grateful feeling. 

And his lips were opened straightway 
And he told of hopes and longings. 

Told of thinking and of planning. 

How he longed to live as white-men. 
Not the life of roaming gypsies. 

And the listeners saw the sadness 
Creep upon his youthful features. 

Canto IV. 

THE WOOING 

Many days arrived—departed— 

Came and passed into remembrance. 
Since the evening by the sick-bed. 

When the watchers kept their vigil. 

Kept their vigil through the night-time. 
And the white man’s fields were yellow, 
Yellow with the ripening harvests; 

And the moon shone full and mellow. 
Shone upon the woods and highway. 
Shone upon the camp of gypsies, 


39 


Lighting all in daylight brightness. 

And the young folks, laughing gaily, 
Wandered ’neath the shady grove trees. 
Gypsy Jim now went with them, 

At his side roved Preciosa. 

And the young pair turned and wandered 
Down a moonlit path together; 

Wandered idly on in silence. 

Noting how the shady woodland 
Was relieved by moonlit spaces; 

Heard the call of the night-lieron. 

And the twitter of the small birds 
That were resting in the branches; 

And in the silence of the forest 
Hearing acorns that were dropping. 

Falling in the quiet woodland. 

And the youth and his young sweetheart 
Followed then the curving brooklet 
That wound, onward, toward the wagons; 
Followed Till the gypsy campfire 
Gleamed out brightly through the woodland. 
They halted, and they listened. 

Listened to the rippling brooklet 
That seemed to sadly murmur. 

Murmur sadly in the night-time. 

The moonlight shone o’er Preciosa, 

Shone upon her lovely features. 

And the orphan gazed upon her 


40 


As he told again liis planning— 

Told of hopes and dreams of living 
As the white man lived, by toiling, 
Not as did the roving gypsy 
Live by trading and by thieving. 

By their tricking and by begging. 
And he told, in voice of eloquence, 
Of the sacred love he bore her; 

And by his earnest pleading 
Gained the lovely maiden’s .promise. 
And as back to camp they wandered, 
Slowly wandered to the fire-light. 
The harvest moon above them. 

In its vast and wondrous grandeur. 
Beamed softly down upon them. 


GYPSY SONG 

This starry evening, we will ramble 
Where the waters ripple low, 

I will tell you a sweet story 

’Neath the harvest moon’s bright glow. 

I will tell you of a love. Dear, 

That is ever fond and true. 

As we linger where the moonlight 
Pours its grandeur over you. 


41 


You—my queen of all the gypsies— 
With dark splendor in your eyes, 
I will tell love’s wondrous story 
That will live beyond the skies. 

Canto V. 

QUEEN MANDA 

With the jet-hlack hair hung loosely, 
Streaming loosely, o’er her shoulders, 
AVith the scarlet robe draped ’round her 
By the bands of faded ribbon. 

And upon the arms and fingers. 

On the shoulders and the head-dress, 
AVere all manner of bright coin, 

AA^ere all kinds of glistening bangles; 
AVhile awkward, flattened ear-rings 
Hung and dangled through her tresses. 
AATth her black eyes glancing ’round her 
At the young ones of the party. 

Of Pimetro’s band of gypsies. 

Old Queen Manda told this story. 

Story 

Once there i*oved a youthful gypsy. 
Shrewd at bargains in the trading, 
Shrewd and honest in his dealings, 

Clean and pure his youthful soul. 


42 


And he wooed and won a maiden, 

A yonng* maiden of the white race, 

Brought her to the gypsy camp-fire. 

Loved and humored her—his treasure. 

And kind fortune smiled in favor 
On his tradings and his dealings. 

Waxing rich in honest dealings. 

Granting all his young wife’s spoken wishes. 
And although she loved most dearly— 

Loved her doting gypsy husband— 

Yet she wearied of their roaming, 

AVearied of the life of gypsies. 

And in silence, sadly longing, 

For the homes and ways of white men. 

Thus the first years of the camp-life 
C^ame and passed, without a murmur. 

But the knowing old Queen Manda 
Knew the longing, mourning, for these. 

Alas! one day, the dreaded fever 
Came and claimed this joyous husband— 

Bore him to the realms far distant. 

To the land of the Here-after. 

Then a change came o’er the young wife, 
x\nd as droop, uprooted fiowers— 

Di'oop and die in brilliant sunshine— 

So she wilted; drooped before them. 

And ere long, in the arms of old Queen Manda 
Placed the infant son, their treasure. 


43 


Asking for his care and comfort, 

For his needs and gentle training; 

And in the long shades of the evening, 
Smilingly, she died. 

Lo! by patient care and nursing 
In the years that came thereafter. 

Queen Manda saw the fruits of her own efforts- 
Saw the babe grow up to manhood, 

Saw the likeness of the father, 

Brave and strong, taintless, honest, 

Likewise bore he the mother’s sadness. 

Bore her hopes and her great longings. 

And—(concluded old Queen Manda)— 

None other is this silent youngster. 

With his planning and his longing. 

With his dreaming and his sighing. 

Than thoughtful Jim, the gypsy orphan. 

Canto VI 

THE DEPARTURE 
The sun shone softly o’er them. 

Sifting through the trees about them 
Shafts of light, all mellow, golden. 

And the summer’s latest blooming. 

In their rank and sturdy manner. 

Decked the roadside in their glory. 

Faintly church bells now were ringing 


44 


From the steeples in the distance, 

All in keeping with the morning, 

This quiet. Sabbath morning. 

And the merry langh and banter 
To the ear, relieved the sadness, 

Helieved the brooding muteness. 

Of the early morning’s quiet. 

AVliile lounging high above them 
On the sleek and restless equine, 

AVhose satin flank was shimmering, 
(rlinting in the sparkling sunlight. 

Sat conversing,—Jim the orphan. 

Standing ’round him, looking upward. 
Were the youthful of the party; 

Sitting, listening in grave silence. 

Listening in glum disapproval. 

At a distance, elder gypsies; 

AVhile he told, he now must leave them 
To fulfil his hopes and longings. 

Leave them, to be swiftly learning. 
Learning the alien ways of white men. 
Learn to labor swiftly,—well. 

Then, once more to them returning 
Where’er they camped along the roadside. 
Returning for his Preciosa. 

Well, he said, he knew the failings, 

Knew their ignorance of learning, 

But with youth-time still before them. 


45 


Hoped to learn and gain in knowledge. 
And in answer to loud jeering, 

In answer to derisive laughter, 

Gently spake he, in this wise: 

“We will fail in smaller detail. 

Fail in many undertakings. 

But in the main we will not weaken, 
We will conquer, Preciosa.” 

Canto VII. 

THE STRUGGLE 
In the last days of October 
Came the shimmering haze in sunshine. 
Came the mellow, glowing far-lights 
Of the welcome Indian-summer; 
Welcome with the changing foliage, 
AVelcome with the brown nuts falling. 
Loudly dropping in the woodland. 

And the wild grapes hung in clusters. 
Purple ’mid the dead leaves’ crispness 
And the farewell notes of robins. 

And the winging crow’s slow calling 
Rang about him, swiftly toiling. 

In the heat of summer fierceness, 

Up and down the rustling corn rows 
’Mid the shocks of frost-tinged fodder. 
Toiling thus, strove the weary orphan 


46 


For imany weeks without abatement, 
With his flabby muscles aching, 

AVith his clothing wet upon liini, 

And the dark hair damply clinging 
’Round his noble, boyish foreliead. 

His young face in its pallor, 

And his dark eyes, clear, transparent. 
Bore the shades of the Great Reaper. 

Thus he toiled throughout the hours, 
AVith the corn dust thick upon him, 
Furrowed by the perspiration, 

And tlie white man, passing hy him, 
Struck with fear by the great pallor, 
P3ade him halt, and seek attention 
F]*oni the noted white physician. 

Anon! in the neat room, quiet, darkened, 
Lay the patient, sad and restless, 

Bearing sadly hopes and longings 
That were ever his companions. 

In tlie long hours interspersing, 

^Twixt the twilight of the evening 
And the dawn of early morning, 

’Rousing up from his light slumber. 
Leaning toward the drowsy watcher. 

In low voice, with labored breathing. 
Faintly called unto his sweetheart: 

“AA^e will conquer, Preciosa.” 

Then, in recognition of position, 
f’'alling faintly on his pillow. 


47 


Canto VIII. 


OMEGA 

Thus the days sped swiftly onward 
And one night time, as the hour 
Neared the watcher’s dreaded midnight, 

At last the final test was placed upon him. 

Yet as stern Death hover’d ’round him. 

Came and peered upon the sufferer. 

He faintly whispered his firm challenge— 

‘‘Conquer yet, my Preciosa.” 

But all too heavy was the burden interposed upon 
him, 

And Death beckoned—grimly won the unfair battle. 

And the spirit of the orphan 

Departed, ’though the hopes and longing. 

That were life-blood to his being. 

Were unfinished—incompleted; 

Departed to his Great Maker, to the Land of the 
Hereafter. 

And they bore the lifeless form most gently 
To the camp of roving gypsies. 

To where the camp-fire gleamed out brightly 
Through the purple shades of evening; 

And the rain dove and the robin 
Called out loudly in their passing 
Through the cool air of the evening. 

Sadly called out their farewell. 


48 


And the stream of rnshing water, 

Where it fell into the valley, 

Thundered down in tone of sadness; 

And the brightly tinted foliage. 

In the varied shades of autumn. 

Fell and rustled ’round the night-camp. 
While the late year’s chilling night-wind. 
Whispering through the shedding branches. 
Sadly sighed, Farewell, Farewell. 

Farewell to hope and promise. 

Farewell to youth and labor. 

Farewell to life. Farewell. 


49 


AT HELEN HUNT JACKSON’S GRAVE 


High -up among the peaks of Colorado’s mountains, 
Proudly withdrawn from the petty world below, 
Looming in majestic state of grandeur. 

Rising high above humanity’s poor woes; 

AVhere the sight seeker, eager and expectant. 

Up this barrier of rock is prone to wend. 

Up where tlie eye may glean the plains of Kansas 
From this mighty promontory—Old Cheyenne. 

There, where stately trees crown this place secluded. 
Once roamed a woman scribe, who bore wing’d 
thoughts 

And dreams of silver hue and brightness, 

That in the valley’s shade, for her, were never 
wrought; 

And as the lofty, noble promontory 

Drew far from greed, from spoils and many 
wrongs. 

So penned she, thoughts and dreams of brightness. 
And to t]ie more lofty aims gave way. 

Sweet as mark the melody of song. 

Long years after, here the wind sweeps age old tree 
tops 

And sadly whispers, where her grave alone 
Tn great solitude reposes on its bosom 


50 


With naught of marking but a tumbled heap of 
stones. 

Her one request to all who come far thither, 

As duty due, be followed till this day. 

That lest her grave’s strange marking meet efface- 
ment, 

Each add but tAvo, and take one rock away. 


‘‘NATURE JOYS” 

I like to listen an’ watch thin’s, 

Out o’ doors the hull year ’roun’, 

Don’t need no business to take my mind, 

I jes like sights an’ sounds. 

Take fer instince when the eves air drippin’ 
An’ the snow is a’most gone. 

An’ the sun is shinin’ warm an’ bright. 

An’ the days air gettin’ long; 

When the sassy jays get noisy 
An’ ye hear geese an’ ducks squawk by, 
doin’ single file or in a great big wedge 
Lak they do when sailin’ high. 

An’ we hear in the early mornin’ 

The purrie chickens call. 

An’ then the boomin’, boomin’. 

In kind o’ a solemn drawl. 

An’ ye sit up straight an’ listen 
To the blue-birds three-toned song. 

An’ look to see the specks o’ blue 
As they go bobbin’ ’long. 

An’ there’s the black-birds’ lively meetin’ 
Jes a coverin’ the hull big tree, 

A dippin’ an’ spreadin’ their tail-feathers. 
An’ a hollerin’ ‘‘jubilee.” 

When 1 hear the ‘‘pip-pip” o’ the robin 
As he curves from tree to tree. 


ry2 


All’ it’s gettiii’ nigli to evenin’, 

Tliat’s music ’noug*h fer me. 

An’ a little pas’ that, in the springtime 
AVith the las’ signs o’ winter gone. 

The groun’ gets like a great big sponge 
But dry an’ mealy afore long. 

An’ the grass looks gray ’long the road-hank, 
Gradu’ly turnin’ to bright green. 

An’ the colts ’at I turn in the medder 
Ail* a sheddin’, smooth an’ clean. 

An’ Avhen night comes on, in the holler 
There’s a full band o’ singin’ frogs 
That don’t seem ter keer ter sing ter-gether 
Settin’ down thar ’mong the bogs. 

An’ I notice, through the hull blame springtime 
That the robins air tunin’ up so. 

That in summer they warble jes heavenly 
From ’mong the pink an’ white tree blows; 
Long in cherry-time they’re thievish. 

But, blame ’em! jes let ’em go. 

We cain’t listen ter high-toned music 
’Thout payin’ fer it, ye know. 

The grove-lot is full o’ posies 
Tn the early summer days, 

’Ith Bluebells, Dutchman’s-breeches, 

Sweet Williams, an ’sech as they. 

Purty leetle innercents a noddin’ 

’Long ’side the cow-path there. 


53 


A beckonin’ an’ swayin’ ’ith the blue-gTass, 

Jes’ smellin’ sweet, growin’ there. 

An’ when hayin’ time is nearin’, 

The quail, on the paster gate. 

Whistles “More Wet,” an’ it is as sure ter rain 
As if he was impendin’ Fate. 

But T like ter hear his music 
Floatin’ ’cross the fields that way, 

Jes like he was ’tern’tin’ ter say it clearer 
Each time he said it that day. 

E’en the yaller-hammer’s rattle is music 
From the orchard to my listenin’ ear, 

An’ I peep through the shutters ter see ’im, 

Tn the hot sun, pipin’ clear. 

When the shadders grow longer an’ longer 
The ole place is grander ter see. 

An’ wanderin’ down toward the paster, the distant 
Lowin’ of cattle is wafted ter me. 

Here an’ there in the dusk o’ the evenin’ 

The firefiy’s lights sparkle, low. 

An’ no purtier sight can I wish fer 

Than when they’re thicker’n bees, don’t ye know. 

An’ so on, through the gran’ ole seasons, 

Sech nater has real charm fer me. 

An’ 1 guess it’s an’ innercent pleasure 
’At the Lord intended ’at Ave 
Should see an’ enjoy, ’long our journey, 

’Mid the troubles an’ Avorries, an’ so 


54 


I’m thankfel to see an’ to hear sech 
Ter brighten the years as I go. 

So when there ain’t nothin’ ter pestei% 

I jes go ont o’ doors an’ aronn’, 

An’ fill chnck full, nigh to burstin’, 

With sech purty sights an’ sweet sounds. 


55 


THE HOMEWARD JOURNEY ’ 


Down the road that the sumacs skirt, 

Where in heaps and hollows lies the powdered dirt 
Flanked by rag-weed and horse-mint and clover, 
Where blue grass roams the road-side over. 

Where the chirping of a robin is wafted along 
And is blended with the caroling of another’s sweet 
song, 

Tlie old man in his wagon is wending his way 
Homeward from town, at the close of the day. 

The last long rays of the setting sun 
Lingers and touches ere the night is begun. 

The glimmering landscape with a deep, mellow light 
That is misty and golden, as it sinks out of sight. 

It gleams on equipages of the farms of today. 

As homeward the farmers cheerfully pass on their 
way. 

With ])ow and remark to the old man as they go 
Swiftly by him (of half a century ago). 

With his team of fat horses, quiet and staid. 
Dancing down hollows and walking up grade; 

They soon long have left him and passed from his 
sight. 

The lowing of cattle, with the coming of night. 
Resounds from tlie meadows as he passes along, 
With the cowbell’s tinkle blends the mieadow lark’s 
song. 

Tlie hollow sounding rocking of the Avagon’s worn 
AAdieels 


5G 


Rumbles down the hills. From the summer’s green 
fields 

The farm hands and horses are hurrying home. 

Like a silvery canoe in a blue sea lone 
Sails the new moon in the clear summer sky. 

The old man gazes with a long drawn sigh, 

At last he is almost home, 

He is almost home. 

All withered and thin are his palsied hands. 

The breezes toy with the silvery strands 

Of his long, thin hair, ’neath his straw’s broad rim; 

The once keen eyes are faded and dim. 

The smooth fair brow is furrowed with care, 

His garments of a style man used to wear. 

He is blithe and cheerful from* day unto day, 

His smile is as sunny, his voice is as gay. 

As ever they were when he was young 
And life was a song that was yet unsung. 

Far down the road with the shades of night, 

A glow from his window, like a beacon light. 
Gleams out in the darkness at the end of the way— 
A welcome home at the close of day. 

And as now, may there be then. 

As he passes along in the march of men, 

A sublime faith, like a beacon light. 

Gleaming o ’er his pathway at life’s sad night 
To guide him safely home. 

For he is almost home, 

He is almost home. 


57 


'I’lIE HERMIT 


The soughing and whining of tlie trees overhead, 
As tlie autumn wind drifts tlirough the leaves that 
are dead, 

The cries of the birds that are echoed again. 

Here, afar from the liaunts of civilized men, 

AVhere the mountains bold peaks gleam out in the 
sun 

High above where the silver thread of the river is 
run, 

I look from my couch at the wonders of God, 

And feel not so poor in my lone hunting lodge. 

The valleys blue shadows are dimpled with light 
That mellows the scene for my poor craving sight. 
And the eagle’s loud scream rings out o’er the plain 
From the cliff where she rests ere she rises again. 
Afar from my loved one, that my life has undone. 
Afar from all mankind where my life was begun. 
Alone in this trouble, with naught but my God, 

T feel not so fierce in my lone hunting lodge. 

AVhere the vast silent expanses sweetly soothe brain, 
AA^here the great depths and heights abash and lessen 
my pain. 

And where, in the night watches, looking through 
dusk afar, 

I learn man’s significance, ’neath the calm quiet stars. 
Though Avith my silent companions,—my dog and 
my gun— 

T starve on my bed when life’s last day is won, 

T meditate and strive to be closer to God, 

And T feel not so lone in my poor hunting lodge. 


58 


G01.DEX Bl TTERFLIES 

Over tlie swaying grasses, 

Lilting, 

Tilting, 

Above the wild flower masses. 

All so lightly dip and rise. 

AVith merry fluttering dashes. 
Flinging, 

Clinging, 

Like merry elfish lasses. 

Oh! golden butterflies. 

AVliere the brook lies calmly sleeping, 
AVinging, 

Bringing, 

And the breeze is gaily fleeting. 
There with buttercups each vie. 

In swarms each lend gay greeting. 
Sipping, 

Flitting, 

And the merry pace all keeping. 

Oh ! golden butterflies. 

AA^ith airy, fairy dancing. 

Glancing, 

Prancing, 

AVith joy the most entrancing. 

Until late Summer dies. 

Through yellow sunshine lancing. 
Flipping, 

Tripping, 

Into Autumn’s days advancing. 

Oh! golden butterflies. 


59 


DOWN IN HAPPY VALLEY 

Loudly rings the voices of children at play, 
Loudly mocks the echo from over the way; 

On the crest of a hill jolts a teamster along 
And merrily rolls his rollicking song. 

The flocks on the home-path are filing their way 
Deep into the valley at the closing of day; 
Green are the slopes and the valley between, 
Where nestle the homesteads in peaceful dream. 
In the oak’s deep shade the smith’s shop stands, 
Where the river winds through this fruitful land 
Strong is the smithy, his arm. stoutly swings, 
Heavy the hammer, the anvil rings, 

While the hillsides fling back in loud halloo 
^‘Ring 0, Ring 0,” 

Down in Happy Valley. 


60 


THE CALL OF NATURE 


Ye, who love the busy cities, 

Love their culture and their pleasures. 
And their turmoil and their strivings, 
Harken to the call of Nature 
That is sounding, deeply sounding. 

Far otf o’er the lonely prairies; 
Ringing with a deep toned measure. 
Till the soul is touched and softened 
By the impact of that calling. 

That like voices of the spring winds 
Call to us to halt, consider 
What the meaning of their measure. 
Far off where the wind and sunshine. 
Where the woods and sloping meadows 
Are not cumbered, are not hampered. 
There in the rich and fertile valley 
Of the father of the rivers. 

The mighty Mississippi— 

Where the loam is deep and fertile. 
And the sunshine and the rainfall 
Blends ’neath Nature’s kindest favor 
To replenish and to answer 
All the needs her children cherish 

-Sounds a myriad of voices. 

That though blended with each other 
Till the ear can scarce unravel. 


61 



Scarce distinguish pitch or ranges; 

Sounds a note so full of interest, 

Fleeting over hill and hollow, 

Floating lightly on the zephyrs. 

Mystical, secretive. 

Leading boldly on forever. 

There the rustling, whispering corn leaves 
Flap and flutter in the red rays 
Of the sun, throughout the summer. 

That pours relentlessly upon them; 

Till the air is pungent, odorous. 

With the sap of maize, that springing 
Spreads a mystery about all. 

And the spirit of the Season— 

’IMid the scenes of woods and prairie, 

’Mid the tones of wind and water, 

—Interprets thus, the sound that’s ringing 
(Of this myriad of voices) 

“Come, oh, come far back to Nature, 

Ye, the weak and o’er burdened, 

Ye, the sad and heavy hearted. 

Back to lire’s simple pleasures. 

Oh, ye followers of men!” 


62 





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